BY SHEILA SQUILLANTE

—for Barb

Under the water--nodeeper than that,farther.I climb downto hermy lost friend,my corrective lens.She floats as shesinks.The body, I know,can do both.She swirls like spiteinside me, a siftingparticulatein our sunset lungs.If I look up I willfind her, flatas a ransom notestaked to the ground.

Sheila Squillante writes poems and essays, teaches at Chatham University, and edits The Fourth River and the Barrelhouse Blog. She lives in Pittsburgh with her kids, her husband, two ancient cats, a v. cool lizard, a fish they keep forgetting to feed, and, soon, two rats for a 10-year-old's birthday. You have to get two. They're social animals.